Port Tobacco times, and Charles County advertiser. (Port Tobacco, Md.) 1845-1898, 1887-01-28

readily translated INTO form and color.
The usual terms of description are too
indefinite. capable of too many and
too varied interpretations too liable
to distortion through the Transforming
influences of the painters own imagl-
nation to render success probable.'
No, no; | Il mt mean anything
like that. JUS make it the way I'll
tell ye Kinder pan around, an I'll
help Vt strike it. Try it stranger
I'll stand the damages. N'if We make
t look like the place, III pay We we'll
f'r it,"
The inducements are irresistible to
the hungry b heInian, he puts fresh
canvass on the easel and seats himself.
palette in hand, to make the attempt.
The other shnts his eyes a moment
in retrospection, and then says: "Well,
there's river runnin' through the
middle of this pictur' that | want t
see. Not big river, just kind of an
overgrown creek. Big enough FIR
trout an suniish that d do a boy S
Eyes good to look at. But that amt
much of description, is it, And lie
scratched his head in public sort of
way, aud tries again: "WelI, this
river i, about forty feet wide to the
average. .I'st paint it about that wide
right across the middle there, will We:
Kinder windin' around, like this"
But the other doesn't paint it. In
stead, he SAYS: There is nothing
tangible in that. The water itself is
10 more visible than the air We breathe.
We only seem to see IL as it reflects
other things. as the objects upon its
banks, of the sky overhead, or shows
Us color from the salts or soils held in
suspension, a.. if it be mGddy, or
stained with
No, faint muddy, its clear as crys-
tai an deep an blue. \ en- paint II
blue. cant v. stranger:
Tell me what rs surroundings are,
and will try"
well. across, on the one side, is a
row u hills that stand right up u,
gaInst the SKY. .I'st make row o
hills there, will We
The artist can do that. He was
born among the hills, and now h. re
calls u certain group Of them IN every
detail First laying in Il slmmer sky
for background. he sketches in their
forms in nai cnIors.
"\o," SAYS the othrr, mot like that,
real hills, genuine uew England hills
with hemIuck'p' scrub oak II haz !
up n down their sides rock crop
ping out next the rlyer--
Wat" says the artist. and he dash
IS and dsbs, and slaps and spatters
the miugilug rlu's and shades Of color
all about with a speed and abandon
that is bewildering.
The gold digger. IN bis anxiety,
bends over hlm closer, as though he
wouIi look through the canvass for
the scene he longs for.
NO." he SAYS, mo, taint il. Try
the turn o the river IN some land on
this side
Even as he speaks, the form and
colors of the sky and hills are SHIN
msring and ripping there, and a, a
sweep the painter describes the line Of
the nearer shore, and then the fore,
ground seems 10 unroll across the cam
sas.
That Is like the turn o the river
Try stone wall down here t'wards
the left. Is that stone wall -
ut will be.
at looks TO me like streak o
brown paint.
ut il like stone wall | have in
mind" tie artist says. But just here
it was tGmbling down, aud the loose
stones were scattered about, half hid
den in the grass. like this, and here
the cattle and the sheep came through
and hal worn IA little, crooked path
down to tie water
Yes, that's it, that's it what |
want but | don't git it yet. DONE
sem TO see it for the paint
You look too closely. Stand back
4 little
We'll, 10y Gorge. 1t is like it
stranger. It's like it to dot How
could y'e hit it so close" he asks in
am cement, "But v left out IL house
ovrr here on this side he continues.
A little l,g house with cla' board
roof n IA tait-a big oak tree binding
over It,
The painter tartS at this. It is hi,
turn Tor alnaZrntnt now. What u
Wild hope thrills him torthe oment
What if his-pshaw. What fool
ish raucN, \ thousand homes would
answer that drscrip ion; aud he goes
ON With his work.
lie paints rhe little housed he has
painted the liver and the hills and the
old wall, not from imaginary, not de
scrlptlun, nut from memory.
lie paints the little house where he
and his brother Tom We're born
where they spent their chiIlho Il to
gethtr--the little hou-e from which
Tom, his b ave, big brother, his hero
grown desperate over the hard lot OF
their widowed mother, had gone away
with bold front to seek his fortune
their fortune.
lie paints the little house from
which their little mother, broken
hearted for want of things Of her ab
sent boy, had been borne to her grave
the little house. no longer home
from which he had wandered, weak
/ lorlrn. helpless little lad, out into the
big world aInne-aI alone, vainly
wishing that he might fad Ton.
Now You strike it, stranger. That s
it. It's the very place! How much
do you want for it? Name your
price"
Il can't part with it,"
But y must, tell We. Y must
Don't trrtle with me, stranger! Or
dered that ric'ur' an its mine. Y
won't 60 back on that. But go on
! There's a Windpr on this side mn